Dear Colonello
by ninetytwochairsonetable
Summary: "Blond hair, blue eyes. Thin as a needle. Scruffy like a scarecrow. That was Colonello before he was Colonello. He wanted nothing more than to live those cheerful times on loop forever." T for language. [Rewrite]
1. Run, Kid

Katekyo Hitman Reborn! belongs to Akira Amano. I am not profiting in any way from this.

I apologize for any mistakes.

Wow. This took forever. Sorry. I'm tired. Thanks. Goodbye.

* * *

Chapter 1: Run, Kid.

Blond hair, blue eyes. Thin as a needle. Scruffy like a scarecrow. That was Colonello before he was Colonello.

* * *

"Hey, who's the kid?" a gruff looking man called out, directing the camp's attention to the small child. Near the edge of their temporary base camp, a child stumbled over his too big boots, hastily making his way to the men sitting around the fire. In his arms he carried a neat pile of sticks and leaves.

"Oh hey, that's uh- you know. That kid," a woman sprawled on the ground very helpfully supplied her drunken drawl.

"Uh huh, very helpful, thanks. Hey, kid! What are you doing here?" the gruff man turned his attention back to their mystery guest.

As the child reached the camp, he slowly set his burden down and answered, "I'm here to help! I can help!"

That… both answered everything and nothing.

"Oh yeah, that's the kid from the town we were just in. We decided he can tag along," said a man with one leg. Gruff Man crossed his arms, raising an un-delicate eyebrow.

"'We' as in who? I don't remember deciding anything about this," he grumbled out. One-leg Man only laughed at his companion.

"That's because you were sleeping when we went to town. Anyway, the kid's gonna stay with us. Who knows, maybe he'll end up joining us on jobs and stuff. We'll teach him everything we know!"

"Is this what we're doing now? Dragging kids to hell with us? To death? We're mercenaries. We can't care for some kid," gruff man argued. He glanced over to the child. The kid was building a small fort out of the sticks he brought back.

"Well, he's all alone, so why not, ya know? Haha!" Gruff Man snapped his eyes back to One-leg Man, wondering if his friend finally lost his mind.

"Janette, say something about this." At this, Drunk Woman Janette raised her head slowly before plopping it back down again.

"Shut up, Birch. Kid's cool. He stays," she managed to mutter out before falling asleep (passing out). Her drunk ass was truly nothing but useful that day. Thank you, Janette.

In the end, no matter how much Gruff Man Birch complained and whined, the child got to stay with them.

That day, Colonello found his first family. A precious group of rough misfits he can proudly call his.

* * *

"Hey, kid," Birch started one day. He and the child were out scouting the vicinity of their new camp that morning. It had been four months since the group's newest member. And it'd been four months too long for this one problem to go on for.

"Kid… We never got your name. What's your name?" Birch asked, somewhat embarrassed. Even he should've known the first thing to ask someone is their name. Right? Or something like that. The child looked up at him, but did not falter in his steps nor notice Birch's sudden bashfulness.

"I dunno," was the simple answer that smacked Birch across the face.

"Oh. Wow. This is sad."

"Oh. Is it? Oh no. This is sad," or so the kid said, but there was no emotion to that. The kid didn't care, did he.

"Uh, ahem. Well. I'll give you a name. A cool one," Birch didn't want to experience an uncomfortable silence, so he blurted out whatever came to his mind, no filter.

"Wow, really? Thanks!" At least the kid seemed excited about this. Birch just had to convince the kid whatever name he picked is cool.

"All right. How about… Uh… Colonel? There was this super cool guy I knew when I was your size, and I thought he was some sort of invincible superhero. I can't remember his name right now, though," he said. Hopefully, the kid will like it.

The child stopped now, forcing Birch to do so as well. He looked up at the gruff man like he served the moon and the stars on a silver platter. Just for a nobody, nameless child like him.

"My hair is yellow like corn, too," the child whispered out. Wait, what?

"Huh? Uh, yeah, I guess it is," Birch was confused by the non sequitur.

"My name is Kernel! The very best name! The coolest name!" Oohhh. Kernel, like corn kernel. Not- aahhh. Birch realized the kid's misunderstanding. It was nothing to be proud of, but Birch felt really smart. He's going to tell the entire camp about how smart he is later in the day.

"Kid, no. Not like corn kernel. It's C-O-L-O-N-E-L, pronounced like kernel. It's a military title thing, and it's very cool." Newly named Colonel smiled bright and wide. Birch sort of wished he'd thought of a better name, but ah. Too late. It was Colonel now.

"Well, Colonel," Birch took a deep breath and sighed. "We look after each other here. We don't split. If anyone runs alone, we follow. That's what we do. Welcome to the family."

* * *

Colonel once read a poem by whatsit. Something about gold and its inability to remain. He never gave it much thought.

* * *

"Hop, skip, jump! Keep up, Colonel. It's time for shooting practice!" Janette sang over her shoulder. Colonel, an obedient child, a hop and a skip behind her, listening closely to her low whistles. He wanted to whistle, too, but she wouldn't teach him. Told him, "You're a smart one. You can figure it out yourself."

"All righty, kiddo! Focus, and take out Tequila and Merlot."

He took his aim, held his breath, and fired. Bang Bang.

"Hm, you missed Tequila and somehow hit Chardonnay. That's all right, too! Clear your head and try again."

* * *

Colonel was fond of campfires. The smell of burning wood clung to everyone, holding tight for days and days, choking lungs and stabbing eyes. The flames licked and caressed anyone within reach, constantly fed, consuming greedily, more and more and more. It wasn't the fire itself he was so fond of, but the people around it. Janette the Drunk, always ready to crack out a bottle of her beloved whisky. Birch the Gruff, chuckling nervously to whatever weird thing he overheard by mistake. Peter the One-leg, laughing with great mirth over the antics of his friends that he would never get over. Fern the Vicious, watching over the happiness of the camp on the edge of the firelight. So on and so forth.

Colonel could belt out as many poetic words he knew to describe everyone in his family. He'd never run out.

He was so, so, so fond of that warm orange glow.

He wanted nothing more than to live those cheerful times on loop forever.

* * *

"Hey, Colonel!" Peter jumped down from above, landing with a soft thump and a graceful roll before Colonel. The child was very impressed, clapping quietly as Peter dramatically bowed with sweeping arms.

"Let's go on an adventure! I'm gonna teach you how to find and climb the best trees!" he exclaimed. Without giving Colonel any time to respond, Peter grabbed his hand and ran off into the woods, dragging the child with him.

"Listen carefully, Colonel. If you wanna win, you gotta know the game. And to know the game, you have to see everything. Even the things you can't see," Peter explained. It didn't make much sense to Colonel at the time, but he was just happy to spend time with Peter.

"What better way than to climb a tree, yeah? Great vantage points!" He laughed that special laugh of his. The one that let everyone know who was having a great time. That distinct Peter laugh. It was always refreshing to hear for Colonel.

"Okay, kid, get climbin'!"

* * *

All was still in the field. The grass didn't rustle. The birds weren't home. That seemingly abandoned building stood steadfast. It really was abandoned. But not empty. Not today. Earlier, it was loud and lively. The aftermath, quiet and not quite as lively.

* * *

"You know, Colonel," Birch heaved a breath. A wet cough. "I always fantasized my end to be louder and more action-packed. Ya know. _Grand_." He lay there, on the cold, concrete ground. That was fine.

"Shut up. I'm going to help, so shut up," Colonel nearly screamed at the fallen man. Eyes teary, hands bloody. His tears, not his blood. A messy sight, but he refused to tear his eyes off of it. Wouldn't. Couldn't.

He didn't want to see the others.

"But, instead of that fantasy, I got this," Birch continued as if he didn't hear Colonel's sobbing. Perhaps, he really didn't. "This quiet. Slow. Peaceful. Conclusion…"

"Birch?" Colonel's voice didn't crack. Of course, it didn't. He had to stay calm and strong for Birch. For everyone. For himself.

"This is fine."

"Birch?" If his voice broke, no one paid attention.

"... Run, kid. Live."

* * *

Colonel was not one to disobey orders. He wouldn't disobey Birch's last order.

He ran as far as he could.

No one followed.


	2. Somewhere Warm

Katekyo Hitman Reborn! belongs to Akira Amano. I am not profiting in any way from this.

I apologize for any mistakes.

* * *

Chapter 2: Somewhere Warm.

"Hey, mister! How're you doing that?" A small child suddenly appeared next to Colonel, startling him out of whatever memory he was stuck in. He looked over to his side, and there she was, a young girl kneeling on the bench he was seated on.

"Doing what?" he asked.

"The whistling!" she exclaimed.

"Don't you know not to talk to strangers?" Colonel was _not_ in the greatest of mood to speak. He didn't even want to be awake at that moment. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep and ignore the girl, she'll get bored and eventually leave.

"But you look so lonely. Even strangers can get lonely, you know."

"..."

"Hello? Mister? Aren't you cold? You don't have an umbrella, do you?" Nope, she's still here.

"Go away," Colonel bit out after a few deep breaths. He felt numb to his bones. There was ice flowing through his veins.

"Mist… ou… ght?... Mom!" What is she saying? His head was heavy. Her voice, heavy. The air, heavy. Everything was heavy.

Everything except the rain. The rain was always on his side.

* * *

Colonel was in the girl's house. Sitting at the table with the girl and her parents. Eating.

He didn't know how exactly he got to be in that situation, but you wouldn't hear any complaints from him.

"So, what's your name, boy?" the man asked. Colonel assume he was the father.

"It's Colonel," he replied.

"Is your name Kernel because your hair is yellow like corn?" that girl- Mia, her name is Mia- chirped.

"Mia! Don't be rude," the assumed mother scolded.

"It's not corn kernel. C-O-L-O-N-E-L. That's my name."

"C-O-L… _Collonel_? That's a funny name," Mia laughed.

" _Mia!_ " the mother's voice could not reach her daughter.

"No, it's _Colonel_ ," Colonel hissed. He loved his name. Birch gave it to him.

"Collonel! Collonelli! Collonello! Collonella- CINDERELLA!" sang the child. Colonel let her.

* * *

No one complained when Colonel never left.

No one complained when he called them his Mom, his Dad, his Sister.

No one complained when he was called Son and Brother.

* * *

"Looky, Collonelli! It's a chicken!" Mia called for attention.

"Are you sure? It looks more like a crow," Colonel replied, bored of her antics (but never tired of her). They were out in the nearby field, doing whatever Mia wanted to do. Which was point at birds and call them chickens.

"Yeah! Her name will be, hmmmmm… Mio!" the child excitedly exclaimed.

"Sure, whatever you want, kiddo," Colonel sighed with fond exasperation. The kid had a way of worming her way into hearts, and Colonel's was no exception.

On and on, they walked and skipped through the grassland and the forests, giving all the "chickens" beloved names by Mia. And at last, their last chicken of the day appeared before them.

"Collonello, look at those chickens! I bet they're a momma and poppa," Mia whispered as best she could. Despite her effort, Colonel was certain the entire country had heard her.

"Yes, they sure are... chickens. Look more like hawks to me," he whispered back. Mia glanced toward him, her eyes comically wide and serious.

"Hawks… The momma will be _Falkonello_. You can name the poppa," she offered. Colonel gave a sidelong glance toward the child before situating his sight back on the nest cradling the birds.

"... _Falke_ ," he decided without much thought. Mia only gave him an unamused look. You know, that look with the tilted eyebrows.

"That's not a name," she said as she stood from the bushes.

Colonel followed suit, then walked back toward their home, calling behind his back, "I don't care. It's just a bird, and we don't need to go around naming all of them. Also, hurry up. Mom wants to teach us how to make pretzel."

At that, Mia's attention was immediately dragged away from chickens and names.

* * *

It was late night when the Horrid News was delivered. Mia had long since retired to bed, leaving her parents and Colonel to sit in silence downstairs. Hours had passed before anyone spoke.

"Colonel, dear… We have to tell you something important," Mom started and trailed off. Colonel was becoming antsy, palms sweating, eyes darting. Then, Dad had enough of the silence, just as sick of it as everyone else.

"Colonel, you have to go. You have to leave," he stated with a voice calm and steady. Inside, his heart was in pieces, a storm raging on. What kind of father was he?

Colonel was paralyzed with fear, betrayal, hopelessness… He was suffocating, burning from the inside, smoke and ashes filling his lungs. He even thought that sickening scent of blood had come back to haunt him at that moment.

" _Why?_ " A sound so pitiful, so helpless.

"Some… _men_ came around asking for a child who looks like you. For a soldier called _Colonel_ ," Mom regained her courage. She wanted to be strong for her soon-to-be-stranger son.

The poor child, barely an adult, understood. He came from a dark world, and that world would never leave him. It'll cling like leeches, drain him dry, all the way to the moment he takes his last breath. He understood, so didn't complain despite his desire to cry and scream and yell, do anything to stay with his new family.

"Where will I go?" the child asked.

"Far. Run far away. To where the world doesn't know your name nor your deeds," the man replied.

"I'll be all alone again. How will I live?" the child asked another.

"The world is vast. There will be people who will hold you dear and never let go. You, too, will never let go," the woman answered.

* * *

Colonel ran away, never looking back. Once more, his family was torn from before him in single breath. He ran until he could run no more. When he regained his breath and his mind, the rain soothing his nerves, he decided warm weather meant warm people. And warmth meant south.

Colonel ran south and never looked back. Had his heart been quieter, he would've heard the anguished cries of a family of three in the distance.


	3. Colonello

Katekyo Hitman Reborn! belongs to Akira Amano. I am not profiting in any way from this.

It's been so long, I forgot what I was going to write for this. Thanks for waiting.

* * *

Chapter 3: Colonello.

"Kid, what're you doing in the rain? Dontcha got somewhere to be?" said a woman.

"I don't belong anywhere," said the boy. He was pitiful.

"... Then, why don't you come work for me? You any good with machines?"

"I can manage."

"Name's Sofia. What's yours?"

"... Marco."

* * *

"I think there's someone up there looking after you, boy," drawled Sofia, the mechanic who took in that poor, pitiful boy called Marco. Said boy looked up from his workbench, still holding nuts and bolts in his hands. His face and clothes were stained with grease and sweat. When Colonel ran for the warmth, he didn't expect to end up in one of Italy's hottest repair shops. He also didn't expect to have a short-tempered woman with a passion for shooting heavy guns as his boss.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked. Over the time working under such a compulsive, explosive person, Marco had learned to stay calm and hold his tongue. You know, just in case someone gets angry, and he becomes a target for a beating. Just in case. (But of course, he was just as hot headed, often getting into trouble with the customers and random people in the streets.)

"What, you never heard anyone say that before? Goodness, you're hopeless!" Sofia shouted at the sky. Not a cloud was in sight. The weather forecast predicted little chance of rain.

Marco only shook his head and waited for her to finish laughing.

"Listen up, boy. It means a deceased person who is important to you is watching over you. I'm saying good things are going to happen to you soon," Sofia explained.

"Are you saying dead people are good luck?" Marco missed the point, as usual. One would wonder if he was raised by a tree.

"NO! Goodness, boy, you'll be the death of me!" Sofia laughed as she collapsed onto the ragged sofa in the corner. Dust and lint flew up and danced in the air, making Sofia cough and tear up. Marco said nothing, did nothing. There was no need to bother her when she was in a good mood. Even if she were to be dying. She was that kind of person. And over the past year, Marco had learned how not to be Colonel. And Colonel definitely would've ruined her good mood in a snap.

* * *

"What's your dream, boy?" Sofia asked him after closing the shop. He looked up and thought for a few minutes. Marco wanted to be just Marco, but his time as Colonel was hard to forget.

"I want to be a soldier. Like a government soldier," he clarified, nodding to himself. "That's what I dream of."

"Really? You're weaker than me, Marco," Sofia teased. "You sure you wanna be a _soldier?_ It's gonna be tough."

"I'm sure! I'm strong, and I can do it!" Marco shouted.

"Haha! You're so easy to ruffle up! Well, boy, you're in luck. I have ears everywhere, so I know everything, ya know. I'll be on the lookout for a soldier job," she laughed and went her way upstairs. Marco wondered if he should be worried. Sofia didn't sound like she was joking about having ears everywhere. Sofia didn't joke. She never joked.

* * *

"I have a feeling you're not telling me a lot, boy," Sofia stated a fact one day out of the blue.

"You've always known that, Boss," Marco replied with equal nonchalance, quickly returning to his meal. Beside him sat Falco _,_ a hawk from who knows where. Marco should have left it alone, but it wouldn't stop following him. It circled above him for days before he finally cracked and offered it food. Since then, it never left. The hawk had once been dubbed _Falke_ (the past would always haunt him no matter his efforts) _,_ but Sofia had scoffed and called it _Falco._ Marco didn't want to start an argument, so he let it be.

"Yeah, 'cuz I know everything. Obviously," she rolled her eyes. "I'm talking about your name. You got other names, don't you?"

Marco froze in his seat. He did not answer. He didn't have to. Sofia knew everything.

"I recall a certain name of _Colonel_ being thrown around the underworld. Know anything about that, _Marco?_ " she asked with little care, but her eyes glittered in the low light, peering out from beneath her hair. The eyes of a predator, focused and intense, far from careless.

"I don't know anything," he stammered. He cursed his stammer in his head.

"I wasn't born yesterday, _Colonel._ And neither were you. Also, you're not very good at hiding anything," she replied.

"I- I don't know _anything_ ," he repeated. Falco shuffled his wings nervously on the table.

"... Hmph! Suit yourself, _Marco._ I don't really care about your past, so I'll let you be," she tossed her head, stood up, and left, her meal long-forgotten. Colonel and Falco sat alone in the flickering lamplight.

* * *

"It's not bad, ya know," Sofia started one day. For a week, there was a tense and awkward strain between Boss and Apprentice. This sudden statement startled Marco, jolting Falco from his shoulder. Falco complained loudly, flying off to another corner of the garage.

"Huh?" was Marco's well-thought out, intelligent answer.

"Looking back at the past. It's not too bad. Just saying," Boss shrugged, never taking her eyes off the engine she was working on. The engine was fairly close to her face, but her eyes were looking somewhere far. Somewhere beyond the physical realm.

"You can look back at the past and smile or cry or whatever. Just remember, you can't go back," her eyes finally settled on Marco, looking deep, searching for something.

It was a long while before Marco graced her with an answer, "I want to leave everything behind. Everything that happened, I want to forget anything happened at all. It hurts too much to remember."

"You're a fool, you know that, Colonel?" Sofia leaned back and laughed through her nose.

"I know."

"I know you know. But do you know why?"

"I don't, and I don't care."

"Well, you should. Because my past and all that I've experienced is what made me into who I am right now. Without them, what good am I? I'd be like a baby! Hah! I'm better- no, stronger than that," Sofia's eyes seemed to finally find Colonel. He didn't have an answer for her. She didn't expect any, anyway.

"Also, ol' Birch would be upset if you tried to forget about him, don't you think?" she asked and left him alone once more. He needed time to think, and think, he did.

* * *

"Hey, Marco, come here," Sofia ordered, and Marco obeyed. Their relationship hadn't gone back to how it was originally, but it was better. More open. Less suffocating. Marco didn't feel the need to keep hiding. What was the point, anyway? Sofia knew everything.

"What is it?" he questioned.

"Well, boy, I pulled some major favors and strings to get you that new life you always dreamed about," she smiled, sharp and warm.

"What?" he was dumbfounded, light headed, about to collapse. His knees were going weak. Sofia doesn't joke. She's Sofia. She just, _doesn't do that_.

"I even got you a personal examiner from COMSUBIN, just for you, boy," she was self-satisfied, grinning ear to ear. She was happy with what she'd done. She was happier for the boy shaking, about to cry, before her.

She was so, so, so happy for the boy she called Marco.

* * *

"I am Lal Mirch, and I will personally be overseeing your training." The woman stood tall and proud. She was a soldier. Kinda like Colonel, but not really. He was never a government soldier. She carried on, "What's your name?"

"It's… Marco," he hesitated. Lal raised a brow, unimpressed with the scrawny thing before her.

"Uh- _huh_. You don't seem too sure of your own name, _Marco,_ " she hissed. She wasn't very happy with her situation. She knew this foreigner pulled strings for her to be there. She knew what he did was illegal (she didn't care it was actually Sofia that did it. Illegal was illegal, for everyone involved).

"I'm sure of my own name," Marco protested, puffing his chest out. He thought long and hard about everything, and he had finally come to a conclusion regarding an important decision. "I can even spell it. Do you want me to spell it?"

Lal narrowed her eyes, but decided to entertain him. "Let's hear it."

"It's spelled like this: C-O-L-O-" he began.

"Huh?"

"-N-E-L-"

" _What?_ "

"-L-O. That's how you spell it," he finished.

" _EXCUSE ME?!_ Are you mocking me?!" Lal was furious. How dare this nobody waste her time.

"I spelled it out for you. Weren't you listening? Surely, you can spell, too. Say my name, Lal Mirch."

" _Colonello?_ Hah! What kind of ridiculous name is that?" she had enough of this guy. But this guy looked way too serious to be joking around.

"It's a great name, and it's mine! What kind of ridiculous name is _Lal Mirch?_ " Colonello shot back. Her face was worth the extra hours of training.

* * *

It was the beginning of a strange relationship. One that would last for many, many years. Colonello would always look over his shoulder, back at the mess behind him, but his feet would always point toward before him. He didn't have time to worry about the past. Not when the future couldn't wait for him.


End file.
